The Domestic Life
by SpyKid18
Summary: Following the events of the finale, Oliver, homeless and jobless, asks to move in with Felicity temporarily. What could possibly go wrong? A lot. Post-finale. Olicity.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I saw a prompt for this on Tumblr and just went for it. I'm planning it to be a multi-chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

The Domestic Life

If someone had told Felicity six months ago that Oliver Queen would be living with her, she would have laughed in their face, making some joke about how the only way that would happen was in some weird Twilight Zone turn of events, and since she hadn't been spotting little green men running around, odds were pretty low Oliver Queen would be anywhere near her apartment. But then Isabel Rochev happened and the Queen family's fortune was drained. The Queen mansion was seized by the government and she watched her formerly flush boss meander the treacherous waters of the lower class.

He'd had the decency to ask Diggle first. She'd been there for the conversation, dutifully working on the computer as she pretended not to eavesdrop. Oliver had said something along the lines of how Diggle was a brother to him and when tough times happened brothers help each other out. Six months ago, that would have worked fine. But now there was Lyla and a little Diggle on the way. Diggle told him that he _wanted_ to helped him, but he had a family now. He had to look after them first. So, Oliver had put on a strong face, saying that he understood and he wished nothing but the best for Diggle and his expanding family.

That was when he glanced over at Felicity and she pointedly ignored his gaze, despite her cheeks flushing of their own accord. He wouldn't ask her. That would just be ridiculous after all the things that happened – or not happened, depending on who you asked – over the past few weeks. Surely, he had other options. The Lances had become more than partial to him as of late, but then she remembered they were dealing with an ailing Quentin, who was recovering from major surgery to correct the internal damage he'd sustained during the battle. Then she thought of Walter, but he'd moved back to England.

By the time Oliver sheepishly showed up at her door Felicity had all but resolved herself to the fact that she might just be the only person in Starling City who could take in the Queen stray.

"It'll only be a few weeks," Oliver had promised. "Just until I get a job and then I'll find my own place."

So, she'd stepped aside and let him into her apartment for the first of what would be many times. In the end, she couldn't say no to him – not when it really mattered. She'd pointed to the couch and said, "Say hello to your new home. It's not the most comfortable couch. The few times I've fallen asleep on it I always get a crick in my neck. But, you know, it's sleep-able."

He'd smiled a bit and told her, "This couch looks great."

And just like that, Felicity Smoak had a new roommate.

* * *

Diggle was more than amused when he heard about their new living arrangement. They were at their new foundry, discussing the next big bad there was for them to take down when Oliver had casually joked that they could take on the clomp-er who lived above Felicity.

"Hold on," Diggle said, glancing between them. "Are you two living together?"

"Not really," Felicity said curtly. "He's crashing on my couch."

"Temporarily," Oliver interjected. "It's just until I get a job lined up. Until then, I'm sort of…monetarily challenged."

"Is that how formerly rich people say poor?" Felicity asked, tilting her head to the side.

"So, what's it like?"

"What's _what _like?" Oliver asked, leaning against a table.

"Living together," Diggle pressed. "Is it going well?"

"Again, we're not _living _together," Felicity clarified. "Oliver is crashing on my couch. There is a distinct difference between the two."

"That difference being?" Diggle asked leadingly.

Felicity frowned, turning her attention back to the computer. In her mind there was a big difference. Living together connoted the sort of relationship that her and Oliver didn't have; one that, given recent events, she'd found herself thinking about more and more, which wasn't helped in the least by him being on her couch. Him being on her couch meant that her usual Oliver-free-hours were now _full_ of Oliver. He was watching TV with her. He was making them scrambled eggs – the only thing in the kitchen he had any idea how to do. He was everywhere, and it while it wasn't exactly unpleasant, she did find herself missing the moments of respite she had when her abode was primarily hers. So, no, they weren't living together. He was crashing.

"It's going fine," Oliver filled in after her prolonged silence.

"Well, she hasn't put one of your arrows in you yet," Diggle said. "So, that's a definite positive."

Oliver smirked. "That is very true."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it," Felicity chimed in. "I swear he has some metaphysical aversion to putting his dirty dishes in the dishwasher."

In just the few days her and Oliver had been living together, she'd seen that he was definitely not accustomed to life without a maid. And she'd told him, in no uncertain terms, that she would not be donning the apron for him.

"I put my cereal bowl in the dishwasher this morning," Oliver returned.

She smiled tightly and returned, "Yes, congratulations. You managed to get _one _bowl in the dishwasher."

Diggle smirked, glancing between the two as they argued lightly. After a moment they realized that he was watching them and they fell silent, Felicity flushing as Oliver cleared his throat.

"Yeah," Diggle murmured, smirk blossoming into a full grin. "This is going to be fun. So, how's the job search going, Oliver?"

"Not well," Oliver admitted. "Not many business are hiring right now, and apparently, being a former CEO of a fortune 500 company scares off most other employers."

"Employers don't like people who are overqualified," Diggle said, shaking his head. "It makes them feel inadequate."

"If only they knew just how unqualified you were for the CEO position," Felicity piped in. "Hey, maybe you could put that as a sort of addendum in your resume."

Diggle snorted and Oliver retorted, "Thank you for the suggestion, Felicity. But, I think I'll leave that off my resume."

She raised her hands in front of her and said, "Just trying to help."

"It's a shame that Detective Lance doesn't know you're the Arrow," Diggle said. "Maybe he could have gotten you something in law enforcement."

"That's the thing, I _am _doing law enforcement. This? What we do? This is a job."

"But it's sort of hard to get paid when you're an anonymous vigilante," Felicity murmured. She understood where Oliver was coming from, though. Being the vigilante was a full time job, and it was a shame he didn't get any credit for it. That was what he had chosen, though, and he had to live with that choice.

"You'll find something, Oliver," Diggle assured him. "It might just take you some time."

* * *

Oliver and Felicity drove to her apartment from the foundry, Oliver characteristically quiet as they weaved their way through the city. She thought of the conversation they'd been having with Diggle, the part about him finding a job, and she murmured, "You will find something, you know."

"Find what?"

"A job," she said. "It's out there. You just need to be patient."

"I know," he said. "But, _what _will I find. Sometimes I think I'm going to end up flipping burgers at Big Belly."

"Diggle and I wouldn't mind that. I bet you'd get a great employee discount."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I don't know if they'd let you use that discount for friends."

"I'm sure we could slip it past them," Felicity said, glancing toward him. "You do have a track record for pulling stuff like that off."

"I just want to find something so I can get out of your hair," he said. "I know it must not be easy having me around all the time."

She pressed her lips together, eyes trained on the road in front of her. She didn't know if he was referring to what had happened back at the Queen mansion, which felt like years ago at this point, or maybe just the fact that she didn't have any time to herself anymore. After a moment she said, "It's not too bad. Besides the dishes thing, you're not a half bad roommate."

"I'm not?" he asked, grin evident in his voice.

She let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. They were joking again. This was territory she was comfortable with.

"You don't snore," she said. "You pick up milk when we're out. And you don't hog the TV."

"I like how not hogging the TV is part of your good roommate criteria."

"I've seen many friendships ruined by greedy TV watching," she told him, grinning slightly. "But, really, you can stay as long as you need."

"I'll get my own place as soon as I can," he promised. "Then you'll finally be rid of me."

She knew he was joking, but as she glanced over at him, her gaze lingering on his profile, she though to herself that she would never truly be rid of Oliver Queen. Not in a million years.

**A/N: I know it's short - but I wanted to set up the story. Let me know if you'd like to see more!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The Accidental Boyfriend readers will get a nice little surprise in this chapter!**

Chapter Two

Felicity and Oliver sat side by side on the couch, flipping through the Sunday sales paper with individual pairs of scissors. A stack of coupons rested on the coffee table, Felicity's stack remarkably tidy in comparison to Oliver's.

"Do you eat Raisin Bran?" he asked, pointing at a coupon with the tip of his scissors.

"No," she said. "Cut it out, anyway. Maybe I'll change my mind before it expires."

Felicity contently flipped through the sales paper, lingering on a coupon here and there and then continuing to flip.

"Do you really do this every Sunday?" he asked.

"Yeah. A dollar here and there really adds up."

"It just seems like a lot of work. A lot of cutting."

She cast him a bemused look and said, "I hate to break it to you, Oliver, but this is how the other half lives. You better get used to it."

It had been two weeks of "getting used to it" for Oliver. He knew he had no real right to complain. For more than twenty years he lived a life of absolute luxury, but still it was an adjustment. He came to see just how much he didn't know how to do for himself. But he had Felicity. She was there to help him along the way - with a healthy dose of ribbing, of course. She found it unfailingly amusing to watch him struggle with the everyday tasks of a normal life.

"Why don't you just use the QR codes on these," Oliver asked, showing her the scanning code on most of the coupons. "You could just scan them and have them on your phone. No cutting."

"You are really against cutting," she noted.

"My hand is cramping," he joked.

"Seriously? Your hand is cramping?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm just saying, for someone who is all about technology, I'm surprised you aren't using it."

Felicity shrugged, cutting out a coupon for two for one detergent.

"I guess I just like the routine of it all. I find it calming. My mom and I used to do it when I was growing up. It didn't matter how late she got back the night before, or that morning, we'd always sit together on Sunday afternoons and cut out our coupons for the week."

Oliver immediately felt guilt settle for making fun of her coupon cutting routine. She didn't share stories about her past often, and when she did it was usually more as an aside than an actual story. But here she was actually sharing with him, letting him get a glimpse – albeit a small one – into her childhood.

"Do you miss her ever?" he asked gingerly.

"My mom?" she asked, glancing over at him.

"Yeah, your mom."

"Of course I do," she said immediately. She thought of Moira and how he had a mother he missed, too. But of course, it was different for him. Moira was gone forever. But, in a way, so was her mother.

"You know, if you ever wanted to go to Las Vegas and visit with her or something…Digg and I could get along for a few days without you."

"Somehow I highly doubt that," she told him.

He laughed. "We'd manage. Really, though. I know sometimes what we do feels like a full time job, but if you wanted a few days-"

"I don't," she interrupted, cutting roughly into the thin piece of newspaper. She cut the edge of her finger and swore under her breath. When she pulled her finger away from the newspaper blood had already begun to drip down her finger.

"Come on, you should wash that," Oliver said, already off the couch and halfway to the kitchen. She walked over to the sink and washed the cut with dish soap, wincing as the cut stung. When she turned away from the sink Oliver was already there with a dishtowel and a bandage. He took her hand in his and gently dried her finger. Felicity watched his face as he meticulously wrapped a bandage around the cut.

Both were silent, and after a moment she said, "I haven't spoken to my mom since I was nineteen. And I couldn't if I wanted to."

He had questions, but he held them back, feeling he had no right to ask them. She would tell him as much as she felt comfortable sharing. They settled back on the couch and she slowly began to tell him about her past, her tone sterile and detached.

"When I left for college she started dating this guy Mick. She told me he was a blackjack dealer at the casino she waitressed at. I found out later he was a meth dealer. My mom always had bad taste in men, but they usually just left and stole money from her wallet. Mick got her hooked on meth. The last time I heard from her she called asking for money. She told me that the casino was late paying her and she needed a little something extra for the electricity bill. I told her I'd send her some money, and that was the last thing I said to her. The next time I tried to call home I got that message that said the line was disconnected. Any letters I tried to send home were sent back to me. She disappeared."

"Did you ever go back and talk to the police?"

Felicity nodded, settling back into the couch. She'd never told anyone about all of this, and she found it somewhat liberating to do it now. For years she'd kept all of this – all of the turmoil – to herself, not wanting people to treat her differently if they knew. But if anyone would understand it would be Oliver. She didn't have to worry about scaring him off, or making him view her differently. He was someone she could trust unconditionally, and she didn't realize until that moment how comforting of a thing that was.

"I went back after I graduated. I found out she'd been arrested a few times for possession while I was away. But then there was nothing. They told me she probably skipped town, or that she had OD-ed somewhere."

Felicity fell silent and Oliver sensed they had reached the end of the story. He reached over and laid a hand on her knee, squeezing it gently.

"I'm really sorry."

"It's fine," she said, and if those words had been from anyone else he wouldn't have believed them. But he believed her. She had the uncanny ability to move on from things. He'd seen it countless times throughout their work together. She didn't dwell on things, and in that moment, with her on the couch, he saw just how well that personality trait had served her.

Oliver reached forward and grabbed his part of the sales paper and scissors again. He read over a coupon and asked, "So, what about Dawn dish detergent?"

She smiled a bit. They went from her sharing the undeniably tragic story of her mother right back to coupon clipping. This was precisely why Oliver was like no one else in her life.

"Clip it."

* * *

That night over dinner Felicity casually mentioned, "I'm hosting a birthday party here on Friday night and I just wanted to clear it with you before I go and send out the invites."

"A birthday party? For who?"

"My friend Lydia," Felicity said.

"Who's Lydia?" Oliver asked, taking a bite of chicken.

"I told you, she's my friend," Felicity returned sensibly. Oliver shrugged, cutting off another bite of chicken.

"I've never heard of her."

Felicity narrowed her eyes and said, "Believe it or not, Oliver, I do have a life outside of you and the Hood. Lydia's one of my friends from MIT. She's in town this week for some work deal, and I thought I'd throw her a little surprise party."

"I do believe you have a life outside of me and the Hood," Oliver told her slowly. "You just never talk about it."

The truth was, she didn't talk about it because that life was exceedingly small. Most of her spare time was spent in the foundry, and if she were being entirely honest, her time not spent with him in the foundry was spent _thinking _about him and the foundry. But he didn't need to know that.

"I like to keep my two lives separate as best as I can," she said crisply. "Which, yes, I do realize runs completely counter to my letting you stay here for a bit. But, well, I'm just choosing to ignore that very minor point."

He smirked. "Fair enough. Anyway, you really don't have to clear apartment things with me. I mean, it's _your _apartment."

"I know, but you're staying here, too, and I figure you should have a say. Besides, what if you had an interview Saturday morning or something?"

"Is this a new way for you to pry into my job search?" he asked wryly. "If it is, it's pretty transparent – even for you."

"No, it's not," she said quickly. "But, as long as we're on the subject…"

Oliver laughed, taking a sip of his water. "Smooth, Felicity."

"Have you found anything? You know, I circled some things in the paper for you yesterday. Have you had a chance to look at them yet?"

"I looked at them," he returned evasively.

"And?" she pressed. "Are you going to apply to any of them?"

"They're not really what I'm looking for."

"What are you looking for? Oliver, you really can't be picky right now. Just choose something. Besides, it's not like the job will be long-term. It's just until you're able to step up at Queen Consolidated again, right?"

Oliver nodded, frowning as he pushed the rest of his meal around his plate. Queen Consolidated's lawyers had talked to him a few days back, alerting him that with Isabel Rochev's passing the company was once again up for grabs. Oliver had hoped he would just be able to assume the role of CEO again, but there were some legal snags that required the board of directors to vote on it. Unfortunately, a large number had either left town or passed due to Slade's rampage, which left the board three members under quorum. Without quorum, no decision could be made and Oliver was left waiting.

"Just apply for something – _anything_ – at least it'll be a start," she said sensibly. "Because I think you're starting to put a dent in my couch, and I'd like to avoid a permanent one if possible."

He grinned. "Alright, I hear you. I will apply to some tomorrow."

She nodded succinctly, pushing her plate away from her. "Good."

* * *

Oliver stepped off the train, glancing down at the folded newspaper in his hand. There at the top was one of the jobs that Felicity had circled in bright red ink. One of the local dojos was looking for a martial arts instructor. He originally hadn't wanted to do anything that ran to similar to his Hood work, but he reasoned that if he was qualified for anything it was this. And besides, maybe it could double as his training on some days.

The dojo was a few blocks from the train station and he tried to figure out exactly how he would explain his training. He didn't actually go to classes. His style wasn't even one in particular. Yao Fei's method had been all his own. But Oliver knew he was good, and he'd taught Roy. He may have to alter his teaching style for the mainstream students, but he figured he could manage.

The dojo was small and on a side street that shot off of the main throughway. It looked old, paint peeling from the sign hanging over the door. He stepped inside, the strong scents of incense hitting his nose. When he glanced around he saw sticks of incense sticking up from several oblong vases around the perimeter of the room.

"Can I help you?" an older man asked, walking forward. He was wearing the traditional karate gi and his feet were bare.

"I'm here for the martial arts instructor position," Oliver said. He held up the newspaper as he added, "I read you're looking for someone."

"Yes, we are," he said, eyeing Oliver suspiciously. "What is your background?"

"It's a combination of wing chun, hapkido and jujitsu. I have extensive experience with hand to hand combat, as well as utilizing props like sticks, knives, anything really."

"That's quite a variety," the man noted, although Oliver could see that his stance had softened somewhat.

Oliver nodded. "Sometimes variety is necessary."

"Indeed," he said, nodding slowly. "Where did you train?"

"China," Oliver said, twisting the truth somewhat. "I spent some time there after college. I met a man there who taught me everything he knew."

"Did he? Well, let's see just how much you learned."

The man gestured for Oliver to follow him toward the mat and Oliver nodded, thinking that he would probably never have another job interview quite like this.

"No props," the man said, dropping into fighting stance. "Props are for weak men."

"Alright, no props" Oliver said, his muscles tensing. Things had been relatively quiet since Slade's attack, but his body still instinctually prepared itself for combat. He lightened his feet on the ground, his focus sharpening.

The man made the first move, coming toward Oliver surprisingly fast for a man of that age. Oliver easily sidestepped his advance, sending his own punch that the man dodged. They were evenly matched, something that surprised the man. Oliver watched him increasingly heighten the intricacy of his movements.

Oliver had forgotten what it was like to spar with someone who had been trained in the art. Diggle was a phenomenal fighter, but his military training made sparring with him rougher. The movements were punctuated, staccato rather than smooth and lyrical. This fight was different. There was a rhythm to the fight, both of them seemingly keeping time with the same internal metronome as they fought.

The man turned into a roundhouse kick and Oliver ducked under it and grabbed a hold of his leg, spinning him onto the ground. He loomed above him, arms at the ready. He expected him to spring back up, but instead the man laughed, propping himself up on his forearms.

"This trainer in China taught you well," he said, breath labored.

"Thank you," Oliver said, reaching a hand down to help him up. The man ignored the hand, lithely rising to his feet.

"My name is Feng Cui," the man said, wiping his hand on his pants before extending it toward Oliver. "Welcome to my dojo."

**A/N: Yes - next chapter WILL include Lydia from The Accidental Boyfriend! Everyone liked her so much over there I thought I'd bring here in here for a little cameo. I originally was going to put the party in here, but this would have been ridiculously long if I had included all of that stuff. So, next chapter!**

**If you are still reading (I know it's been a while since the first chapter) please leave feedback.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It's been a while guys - but since The Accidental Boyfriend is almost done I thought I'd shift focus back to this story. Hope you enjoy this!**

Chapter Three

Oliver could hardly wait to tell Felicity the news. With her normal 9-5 job, though, he had to wait a good while and busied himself with tidying up the apartment. He vacuumed the entire apartment and then found some Windex under the kitchen sink and wiped down the glass top of her coffee table. He was attending to the screen of her TV with a Swiffer sheet when Felicity walked in, arms laden with groceries. He went over to help her, taking the majority of the bags while she kicked the door closed with her foot. She glanced around the apartment and after a moment said, "Hold on, did you _clean_?"

He nodded happily. "Yeah, I had a lot of energy to work off so I figured I'd do something productive with it."

She stared at him. "Who are you?"

He laughed, setting the bags on the kitchen table. "I'm someone who is very grateful to you for letting me crash for a few weeks. And, I am also someone who is currently employed."

Felicity grinned wide, dropping the remaining grocery bag on the floor and flinging herself toward him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He laughed and murmured, "I hope there was nothing glass in that bag."

"It's just bread," she said dismissively. Pulling back to see his face she began to fire off questions. "Wait, you got a job? What is it? Where is it? Tell me everything!"

"It's one of the ones you circled," he told her, turning toward the kitchen table and beginning to unpack the groceries.

"Big Belly Burger manager?" she asked with a grin, following him. "That was Digg's favorite option, by the way."

"I'm sure it was," Oliver returned, shaking his head. For someone as fit as John Diggle, the man did have a larger than normal affinity for those burgers. "I actually went with the martial arts instructor."

Felicity's hands stilled on a box of cereal, her eyes widening with surprise. She hadn't actually known if she should circle that one. She thought it might have been too close to what he really did, but she figured that he couldn't fault her for options. She told him this and he nodded in agreement.

"I thought the same thing," he admitted. "But, everything else felt…pointless. At least here I'll be teaching kids things."

"Who would have thought you'd be so civic minded," Felicity teased gently. She laid a hand on his arm. "I really am happy for you, though. You deserve something good after everything that happened."

"Thank you," he said. She moved her hand from her arm and he caught it with his own, giving it a small squeeze. "Thank you for everything. What you've done for me the past few weeks…"

"It's nothing you wouldn't do for me," she told him softly. "So, what was the interview like?"

"Strange," Oliver said, picking up the packages of cheese and lunchmeat and bringing them over to the refrigerator. "We sparred."

"Hm, okay. Well, I guess that's not _that _strange. You were interviewing for a martial arts position. How was he?"

"Good," Oliver said, mind drifting back to the dojo. "He sort of reminded me of Yao Fei, actually."

Felicity had been placing apples into the fruit bowl at the center of the kitchen table and glanced up at him. He didn't mention Yao Fei often, and she always felt a certain special connection with Oliver when he gave her glimpses into that part of his life.

"How so?"

"I don't know," Oliver said, closing the refrigerator door. "It was a…feeling. He doesn't look like him or sound like him. But he still reminded me so much of him."

"Sometimes people are just familiar. There's no rhyme or reason, it's just there."

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I start tomorrow. He said I'll do individual lessons first before I move on to group. I think he's not entirely confident in my teaching skills yet."

Felicity smirked. "Can you blame him? You've only technically taught one person."

Oliver laughed, shrugging. "I guess you're right. Anyway, I'm really excited. Even though it's only temporary, it just feels right."

"Have you heard anything else about Queen Consolidated?" she asked, raising up on her tip toes to put the boxes of cereal up on the top of the refrigerator. When he saw she didn't quite reach in the shoes she was wearing he went over and took the boxes from her, easily plopping them on top of the refrigerator.

"They're still working on finding people for the board of directors," he said. "Apparently, Isabel Rochev's prior involvement with the company left a bad taste in many investors' mouths. People are avoiding the company like it's the plague."

"Maybe you should put out some statement or something?"

"Like what? I let my family's company be taken from me, but guys, I promise I'll do better next time?"

"That's not what happened and you know it."

"I know," he sighed.

"Good," she said succinctly. "Now, can you put these pretzels up on the refrigerator?"

He grinned slightly, taking the box of sourdough pretzels from her hand. "Yes. That I can do."

* * *

That night Felicity and Oliver sat on the couch watching Chopped, a large knit blanket covering their laps. Both of them were amused by how high stakes everyone appeared to think the game was, and how the judges seemed to find things like a bone left in a fish or undercooked chicken to be apocalyptic in nature. On screen, Aaron Sanchez found a burnt piece of garlic in his plate and the music came to a dark crescendo.

"If someone only heard the soundtrack from this show, they'd think they were watching a really serious action movie."

Felicity laughed. "You're so right."

"Like, was that music really necessary for a burnt piece of garlic? I'd expect a dead person or a burning building with that music before I'd think burnt garlic."

"We don't cook," she pointed out. "Maybe we don't understand just how terrible burnt garlic is for a dish."

Oliver gave her a look and murmured, "They'll survive. Anyway, what time is this party again tomorrow? I have some stuff to do at the dojo and I want to make sure I'm back in time."

"Seven," she told him. "Which, in Lydia time, means seven thirty."

He laughed. "Alright, well I should definitely be back by then. He's just having me observe a few classes."

"About the party," Felicity began leadingly. "I probably should warn you about Lydia. She's a little…well…she's Lydia. That will make more sense when you meet her."

"Okay," he said slowly.

"She's going to take the fact that we're living together and assume things, even after you and I repeatedly and vehemently deny those things."

"It's fine," he said with a shrug. "It's not anything I haven't dealt with before."

She turned toward him, giving him a look. "You don't mean with me, right?"

"No," he said quickly – too quickly. Felicity narrowed her eyes and demanded, "What are you not telling me?"

"It's nothing," he said dismissively. "It's just…"

"What?"

"When you were my assistant back at Queen Consolidated some people might have sort of thought-"

"No," she breathed out, eyes widening. "They thought we were together?"

"Something like that," Oliver said evasively. Felicity's mouth dropped open.

_"_They thought we were _sleeping _together?"

"A lot of people think things that aren't true," he tried, but Felicity was having none of it.

"Yeah, but those things probably don't include me sans underwear. You told them they were wrong, right? That _nothing _is going on between us?"

"Of course I did. Why are you getting upset? It's just rumors."

Felicity flushed, turning back toward the television and pressing her back into the couch.

"I'm not upset," she said, lying unsuccessfully. She could never tell him this, but she'd always thought she'd done a pretty good job of hiding her attraction to him at work. She tried to keep things professional, gaze held firmly above his neck and nervous rambling cut down to the bare minimum. But apparently, she hadn't been as good at all of that as she thought.

"If it makes you feel any better, they probably would have thought I was sleeping with anyone who was my assistant."

She laughed humorlessly and told him, "Wow, thanks. That makes me feel really special."

"What? I'm trying to tell you it's not because of anything we did. It's because of how people perceive me. They think I'm still the old Oliver Queen – the one who slept with anything that has breasts."

Before she could stop herself she murmured, "That sounds a lot like the current you."

He gave her a look and she said, "Okay, I'm sorry, that was a little mean. But, you _did _sleep with Isabel. And Helena. Both of whom were batshit crazy."

Oliver frowned. "I'll admit those weren't my brightest moments."

"Anyway, I just wanted to warn you about Lydia. She can be a bit much if you don't know to anticipate it."

"Well, thank you. I think I'll survive, though. She can't be that bad. I have Thea, remember? No one can pry more than my sister."

Felicity kept quiet, thinking that his statement was patently wrong. There was someone who could pry more than Thea, and her name was Lydia Hathaway. Oliver had no idea what he was staged to face in twenty four hours.

* * *

Felicity spent all day at work on Friday worrying about the party, and then all of the time after work kibitzing around the apartment, needlessly cleaning every nook and cranny of her apartment that she had already cleaned the day before. She felt her nerves mount as the clock ticked toward six thirty when she had told people to show up. Felicity heard a key turning at the front door and Oliver stepped in, tossing his bag on the couch.

"You're not going to leave that there, are you?" she asked him. "Because people probably will want to sit on the couch."

"Sorry, habit," he said, moving back and picking up the bag. He put it in the front closet, glancing around the apartment after he shut the closet doors.

"This place looks even cleaner," he noted. "Did you clean _again_?"

"I clean when I'm nervous," she returned.

"Why are you nervous?" he asked. "It's a party. What's there to be nervous about? You buy some chips and dip. Beer. Maybe a bottle of wine or two. Bam, you have a party."

"First off, that sounds like the worst party in existence," she told him. "And, um, I'm sort of regretting the whole surprise aspect of the party. Because, you see, Lydia _hates _surprises, but I thought it would be fun. Especially because she really wouldn't expect to have a party here. The ultimate surprise party, see? But, the more I think about it, she _really _doesn't like surprises, and this party basically is a complete disaster."

"You do realize you're overreacting, right?"

"Yes," she said loudly, laying the back of her hand on her forehead. She could already feel the thin layer of perspiration there. "But I can't stop it. I start getting nervous and then it all sort of snowballs."

"Hey, come here," he said, taking a hold of her arm and tugging her toward him. He placed his hands on the curve of her upper arms and told her, "Tonight is going to be great. You have nothing to be worried about, okay?"

She nodded, glancing down at his terrycloth zip-up hoodie and sweatpants. "You're changing, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good, go do that before people get here."

"Okay," he said, drawing out the word. "But, please try to calm down. You're giving me second hand stress."

"Great, now I'm going to be anxious about that!" she shot back at him as he padded into her bedroom. A week or so back she'd given him part of her closet so that he wasn't living out of a suitcase. It had been a minor sacrifice on her part, but it also meant that her living room actually looked like a living room now and not a hostel. Oliver hadn't been the best at keeping his stuff in the suitcase and she was tired of walking in on a mess every day after work.

Oliver changed quickly, walking out in a pair of dark wash jeans and a slightly wrinkled – but acceptable – blue button-up. He grabbed a beer off the counter and twisted the cap off. As he raised it to his mouth Felicity grabbed it, taking a long pull from the bottle. Oliver smirked, reaching over and grabbing another for himself.

* * *

People filtered in a little after six thirty, and by seven fifteen the apartment was filled. Felicity had called up her friends around Starling, and then had even gotten a few friends from out of town to come to Starling for the party. Her friends Taylor and Sadie were there, starting off what they called their last girl's weekend before Taylor got married and became a boring married lady.

"You're a brave woman to surprise Lydia Hathaway," Taylor noted. "Remember when we threw her that surprise birthday party in college? She accidently hit that guy she was dating and gave him a bloody nose."

"I remember that," Sadie said, laughing. "You know, they dated for a good three or four months after that."

"It'll be fine. Lydia loves parties," Felicity said.

Taylor snorted, taking a sip of her beer. "Whatever you say, Felicity."

Taylor glanced over at Oliver, eyes following him as he walked across the apartment. "So, what's up with your roommate?"

"Oliver?" Felicity asked.

"No, your _other _roommate. Of course I mean Oliver."

"You know he's a really good co-host," Sadie said. "He's been checking on everyone's drinks and I've never seen the pretzel bowls run low."

"He's just a friend," Felicity said with a shrug. "He ran into some tough times, so I let him stay with me."

"He's a Queen though, right?" Taylor pressed. "Aren't they millionaires or something?"

"Billionaires," Felicity corrected. "But most of the money really isn't liquid. The company had some problems and the government seized the house. He had nowhere else to go."

"Well, I think it's nice of you," Sadie said. "Opening your house up to him and everything."

"He's done a lot for me over the years," Felicity said, thinking to herself just how true that statement was – beyond what they could understand. "I was happy to repay the favor."

"Okay, so, let's get to the real question here," Taylor said. "Are you sleeping together?"

Before Felicity could answer someone beside the window said, "She's here! Lydia's here, I see her car!"

"Okay, everyone quiet now. She should be here soon."

Some hid behind furniture while others simply stepped to the side, quietly sipping their drinks as Felicity walked to the door and put her ear to it, waiting for Lydia. When she heard someone walking down the hallway she sprang back, turning excitedly to the group with a thumbs up and cheeky smile.

Silence settled on the group and there wasn't even a rustle when a knock sounded in the room. Felicity took a deep breath before opening the door a sliver. Lydia stood there with her bright orange shift dress and too-big-sunglasses perched on top of her head. It had been too long since Felicity had seen her friend, and it took everything in her not to shriek and hug her right there.

"Why are you peaking your head out?" Lydia asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Felicity reached out and grabbed Lydia's arm.

"Please don't be mad," Felicity began. "But…"

She pushed the door open wider, pulling Lydia into the apartment. Over the deafening yell of surprise from the group she said, "I couldn't let you leave without a birthday party."

Lydia did not react as strongly as she did back in college but a string of expletives still left her mouth. She grasped Felicity's arm tightly and said, "I should have known you would do something like this."

"Do you like it?" Felicity asked, a tense smile pulling on her mouth. Lydia rolled her eyes and pulled her friend in for a hug.

"Of course I do, you idiot. An entire party about me? I love it."

Felicity laughed and kissed her cheek. "Well, I'm glad. Happy birthday."

"I'm guessing you're the woman of the hour," Oliver said smoothly, stepping beside Felicity. He extended a hand and Lydia paid Felicity a questioning glance before shaking his hand and saying, "I don't remember Felicity having one of you."

He laughed. "I'm her roommate Oliver."

"Roommate," Lydia repeated, eyes sliding over to Felicity.

"It's temporary," Felicity threw in. "Just until he can find somewhere else."

"Felicity's been very accommodating," Oliver added.

Lydia smirked, cocking her hip to the side. "I'm sure she has."

Felicity felt her cheeks redden and she stammered, "Alrighty, it looks you need a drink, Lydia. What can I get you?"

"I'll get it," Oliver interjected. "Let me guess – red wine."

Lydia nodded appreciatively. "You guessed right. That's impressive, Oliver the Roommate."

"I do own a club, after all," Oliver returned with a grin. "I know drinks. I'll be right back."

He walked off to the kitchen, Lydia's eyes following him the entire way. She tilted her head to the side and said, "Please tell me you are getting with that."

"We're just friends," Felicity said firmly.

"Can I get with him?"

"You're married," Felicity dead panned.

Lydia frowned and murmured, "Oh right. Are you seriously telling me that you two are living here – alone in this big place – and you're not even hooking up? You know, nighttime snuggles. Maybe a little morning nookie?"

"Stop it," Felicity droned.

"What? A little something in the morning can set the tone for the rest of your day."

Felicity winced. "Please stop talking."

"Fine, so if you're not screwing Oliver, are you at least screwing someone else? Because there is way too much good stuff happening here – " she waved her hand in front of Felicity's face and then lower – " for there to be nothing happening here."

"Stop that," Felicity hissed, swatting Lydia's hand. "I told you I'm too busy for all of that."

"Ugh, this is depressing. Okay, you know what I want for my birthday?" Lydia began. "I want you to get laid."

"I think I'll pass."

Lydia entirely ignored Felicity's disinterest in the whole operation and said, "Let's see what we're working with."

She craned her neck as she glanced around the room. She spotted a guy in the back corner sizing up Felicity and said, "Hm, what do we have here?"

Felicity followed her gaze. "That's nothing. It's Mike. He's from my yoga class."

"You invited someone from your yoga class?" Lydia said, snorting.

"He asked what I was doing this weekend and it sort of slipped out," Felicity said. "I couldn't not invite him then. It would have been rude."

"No, it would have been what normal people do," Lydia said, slipping her arm around Felicity's shoulders. "But if you were normal, then you wouldn't be you."

Felicity gave her a look. "Gee, thanks."

"So, he's not bad. A little bean pole-y, but that's not a deal breaker. And if he does yoga you know he's flexible. Probably has pretty good stamina, too."

"I'm not sleeping with Mike from yoga."

"Well, you won't with an attitude like that," Lydia scoffed. "Just talk to him, please? For me?"

Felicity gaped at her. "You're not serious, are you?"

"It's my birthday," Lydia said with a ridiculous amount of solemnity. "And this, Felicity, is my birthday wish. So, go over there and start flipping your hair or something."

Felicity groaned, knowing that Lydia would be after her the entire night if she didn't do what she asked. The best thing she could do is go have a five minute conversation with Mike and call it a night.

"Fine, but I am not sleeping with him."

"Whatever," Lydia said flippantly. "That's how you feel now. Who knows how you'll feel a few hours and drinks later."

Felicity rolled her eyes, walking over to Mike. He grinned expectantly, giving her a largely unnecessary wave due to the size of the party. She steeled herself for a mind-numbing exchange.

Meanwhile, Oliver walked over to Lydia with her glass of red wine. Lydia took it happily and put half off it down with one hearty gulp.

"Where did Felicity go?" he asked.

"She's finding herself a partner for the horizontal mambo," Lydia said gleefully, pointing her glass toward the corner where Mike and Felicity talked. Oliver looked at her in confusion and she spelled out, "She's working on getting _laid_."

Oliver's eyes snapped to the pair, and before he could stop himself he blurted, "With him?"

Lydia sniggered. "Well, better him than no one."

"He doesn't look like her type."

Lydia smirked at the disapproval in his voice. "And what exactly is her type?"

"I don't know, I'd say a little more muscled. Lighter hair. Definitely not someone who would wear that shirt."

Lydia silently noted that Oliver seemed to be describing someone who was remarkably like himself, but kept that to herself. Thinking that she planted enough of a jealous seed, she patted Oliver on the shoulder and said, "Well, I should make the rounds. It was nice meeting you!"

* * *

Felicity could feel him watching her. First she thought that she was imagining things, but then he was watching her from the kitchen, and then from beside the couch, and by the fireplace. Wherever he was his eyes were squarely on her, and she didn't know what to make of it.

Even more surprising than Oliver's insistent gaze was that she was actually enjoying talking with Mike. Their conversations were all largely topical at yoga – mostly how-are-you and how-was-your-weekend, but untethered from the stiff banality of yoga small talk he was bitingly funny.

"I'm always sort of afraid I'm going to moon someone during downward facing dog," he said. "You know, you're up there and if your pants start creeping down…" he shook his head and took a pull off his beer, "…you're screwed."

She laughed. "Instead of plumber's crack it would be downward dog crack."

"Exactly!" he said. "That, right there, is my biggest fear."

"Well, I promise if I ever see things edging that way I'll serve as a distraction," she said. "I'll topple over or something."

"I would be eternally grateful."

"Well, us yoga-ers have to look out for each other."

He laughed. "Yoga-ers. Yeah, we do. So, um, I think this meeting outside of a yoga studio is working pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I would."

"Maybe we can try it again. Maybe at a restaurant or something?"

He said it so off-handedly that if she hadn't been listening carefully she would have missed that he was asking her out. But, she was listening carefully, and there it was bright and clear.

"I think we can do that."

* * *

The party wound down around one in the morning, everyone shuffling out with thanks to Felicity and Oliver, and well-wishes to Lydia who was staying the night. Once everyone had cleared out Oliver settled on the couch and Lydia walked out of the bathroom in the spare pair of pajamas that Felicity had given her. They were sharing a bed like they did back in college when they'd go on weekend benders and crash at one of their apartments.

"So, I saw you chatting with Mike. I was right, wasn't I?"

Felicity grinned, tucking her arm around her pillow. "We're having dinner later this week."

"Seriously?" Lydia asked excitedly, nearly shrieking when Felicity nodded. "Okay, real talk time, I never expected anything to come out of this. I just like throwing you at nonthreatening men. But, I have to say, I'm impressed."

"He's actually really nice," Felicity said. "I don't think I gave him enough credit from our minimal yoga interaction."

"I'm so happy for you," Lydia said with a wide grin. "You are so getting laid soon."

Felicity tossed her a slight grin and returned, "I just might."

Lydia climbed into bed, pulling the covers up and tucking them under her arms. She turned on her side and said, "By the way, Oliver totally doesn't like him."

"Wait, what?"

"I pointed him out earlier and he had quite a lot to say."

"Like what?"

"He just kept saying how he didn't think the guy was your type. Shit like that. All of it was a clear cover for the fact that has a thing for you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Felicity said, turning on her back and staring at her ceiling. "He doesn't have – " she lowered her voice, "_a thing for me_."

"I just call it like I see it, Felicity. The way he was acting tonight – and not just with the Mike situation - I mean him helping out so much with the party and being all around awesome, that's because of you."

"We're friends."

"Friends my ass," Lydia said. "Besides, he is way too hot for you two to just be friends."

"I thought you were all gunho for Mike and I? What happened to that?"

"Oh, I'm still excited for that. But who's to say you can only have one guy at a time?"

Felicity laughed. "You're the worst. You do know that, right?"

"Yes, I do," Lydia said. "And you love me for it."

Felicity smiled softly and reached over and grabbed Lydia's hand. She squeezed it gently and said, "Yeah, I do. Happy birthday, Lydia."

**A/N: If you are reading this still - please review! I have some fun stuff planned if this is continued! **


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